Club Revolution: The Politics of Dancing
by Pink Marabou
Summary: Third chapter up: “Showdown in Crystal Tokyo.” Yuni’s being bratty. Emi’s big mouth gets her into some unexpected trouble. And just what is Izam smoking, anyway?
1. Get On My Groovy Train

The following is an attempt at making an actual fic 'series' out of DDR, using the characters from 4th Mix (and, maybe later on, 5th as well). I claim to own nothing but the premise of this story. DDR and its characters are © Konami. Apologies to Re-Flex (and Paul Van Dyk) for the title.   
  
  
  
Club Revolution: The Politics of Dancing  
01: Get On My Groovy Train  
  
  
  
"How did we get stuck doing this?" groused Jack Boldo, as he lugged a heavy box marked 'Strobes' into the loading area of the old warehouse—formerly a rubber glove factory, soon to be a premier night spot (or so he hoped). The unusually warm, balmy afternoon, coupled with the strenuous labor, was causing beads of sweat to roll down his forehead. Worse than that, his afro—his beautiful afro!—was starting to get dewy as well. "Where the hell are those guys we're paying by the hour to unload?"   
  
"Out back taking a break," answered his business and dance partner, Tracy Lyze, as she followed with another, considerably lighter box, this one marked 'Menus'. "They say it's Union policy."   
  
"Break, my ass…they haven't done any work since they got here!" Boldo muttered, ripping open the box flaps. He'd seen the way they'd been tossing the boxes into the truck earlier that day, and if any of the lights were broken…well, he'd simply be forced to get medieval on their asses.   
  
Tracy set her own box down and regarded him with an amused grin. "Are we just a little on edge today, Jack?" she teased in her light Jamaican accent.   
  
Boldo sighed and sat down on the hard concrete floor. "Are you kidding? I've done nothing but worry ever since we bought this place. I'm just not looking forward to going back to Chicago with my tail between my legs when this club bombs." He did have a reputation there to maintain, after all. City Dance Championship trophies for the last five years, in both Freestyle and Hip-Hop categories. The distinct honor of being featured on 50 consecutive _Soul Train_ episodes. Being named 'Most Soulful Brother in Chicago' by _Dance Craze_ magazine. If this fell through…he'd be laughed all the way back to the mall breakdancing circuit.   
  
Tracy shook her head, still smiling. "This club is not going to bomb, Jack. This is a good market to tap into. More than half the kids around here sneak off to raves every weekend. Don't you think their parents would rather see them off here, than to some back-alley Ecstasy feeding frenzy?" She gestured with one toned caramel-brown arm to the main dance floor, just beyond the loading zone. "It might not look like much at the moment, but…it's got a good future. I can feel it."   
  
Boldo looked out at the dance floor, with its partially-installed Plexiglass tiles that could be lit up underneath, then back at his partner. Sometimes she seemed infinitely wiser than her 22 years.   
  
He allowed himself a grin. "Yeah…I guess."   
  
Tracy grinned back, her warm brown eyes reassuring, but the moment was broken by a surly shout from out back. "Hey, Mr. Baldo! Where do you want this toy machine thing to go?"   
  
"It's _Boldo!_" came the irritable shout in return. Tracy giggled. "Just put it in back, by the restrooms!"   
  
Boldo put on his best defeated expression as the teamster wheeled the UFO catcher through on a dolly. "We're insane for doing this, right?"   
  
"Oh, yes," Tracy replied. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."   
  
  
  
***   
  
Next chapter: Emi's got a sense of Rage…  
  



	2. She's a Maniac, Maniac On The Floor

I promise that after this chapter, I'll can it with the Flashdance references. Well, maybe. XP   
  
  
Club Revolution: The Politics of Dancing   
02: She's a Maniac, Maniac on the Floor  
  
  
  
_"…And she's dancing like she's never danced beee-fore!"_  
  
A barely audible groan came from underneath Emi Toshiba's pillow, as her arm dangled listlessly over the side of the bed. That was all that could presently be seen of the lithe 17-year-old, as she was doing her very best not to join the land of the living. The blaring radio alarm clock wasn't helping matters.   
  
"And that was Cover Me, with _Maniac 2002!_" announced the DJ in a cheerful voice. Emi couldn't understand how anybody could sound so chipper at such an ungodly hour. "Coming up, a brand new remix of _Macarena!_"   
  
"Dear kami, _no!_" gasped Emi in horror, fumbling frantically for the snooze button, her flailing hand managing to hit every button but the intended one. In a last desperate gesture, she swept the clock to the floor, where it shattered into a mess of wires and plastic. No biggie. She could easily fix it later. Small price to pay for being spared the gut-wrenching terror Los Del Rio had inflicted on the world.   
  
And now, she could go back to sleep…   
  
Knuckles rapped briskly on her bedroom door. "Emi! Time to get up!"   
  
Emi squinched up her face. Time to play the crapshoot sick card. "Moooommm! I don't think I can move! I might have snapped my spine! It's serious, I know it is! I definitely don't think I can go to school today!"   
  
Her mother, of course, was not so easily fooled. "It's already 6:30! If you don't get a move on, you're going to be late for your first period! Don't you have computer class first?"   
  
"Don't remind me," grumbled Emi, finally sitting up and hauling her legs over the side of the bed. She had no intention of 'getting a move on' to be in time for stupid old Computer Literacy with stupid old Mr. Malarkey, where everybody sat in front of their stupid old Apple IIs and listened to the teacher drone on about things of no interest to Emi. It was no elective class, it was punishment for something very cruel she'd done in a past life—Emi was certain of that much.   
  
"_Emi!_ Are you getting ready in there?"   
  
Emi groaned again. "Yes, Mother."   
  
She took her time getting dressed, even though she didn't have any real choice in the outfit: the required school blouse, yellow pullover sweater and pleated skirt. Whipping a brush through her short sky-blue locks, she topped the ensemble off with her ubiquitous beanie, made a face at her reflection in the mirror, and then trudged down the hall to the kitchen, where her mother was pouring herself a cup of tea.   
  
"Where's Dad?" Emi inquired, noticing the morning paper sitting unread at his place at the table. "And breakfast?"   
  
"He went down to the shop to fix the toaster. It's shooting sparks again."   
  
Emi grinned as she crossed over to the fridge. The family lived in an apartment over their own shop, Toshiba Appliance and Repair, operated by both of Emi's parents—and, when she finished vocational school, Emi herself. As skilled as her parents were with all things electric, neither of them seemed to be able to tame the demonic toaster. "No problem. I'll just pick something up on the way to school." She grabbed a juice box for the trip, kissed her mother on the cheek, and waltzed downstairs to an imaginary beat, having momentarily banished thoughts of first period from her mind. "_What a feeling…being's believin'…_" she hummed under her breath as she waved goodbye to her father, still feverishly grappling with the toaster, and headed out the door.   
  
The Toshibas' store was located in a shopping center with a number of other primarily Japanese merchant families, who all lived in the floor over their businesses. There was the Fujiyas' food market, where Emi frequently stocked up on such unhealthy goodies as Pudding Baby and coconut pocky; the Nidas' flower shop; Crystal Tokyo Video Rental, which was run by the Tsukinos; and, of course…the Itohs' liquor store.   
  
Emi walked quickly past this last one, as she wasn't exactly eager to run into one of the store's occupants, who would be heading out the door for school at approximately the same time as her. Actually…well, a little part of her _did_ want to see him. The tiny, infinitesimal part that thought he was cute. The rest of her was anxious to clear the area as quickly as possible.   
  
But there he was on the sidewalk, heading in the opposite direction as her, so that intersection of the two paths was imminent. Emi groaned to herself. Couldn't he take a different route, just once? Wasn't he too old for high school, anyway? He was already 18 or 19, after all.   
  
Moping along, watching the concrete, hands shoved in the pockets of his much-too-baggy grey camouflage pants. With that ridiculously spiky, anti-gravity brown hair, and that even more ridiculous goatee.   
  
Actually, the goatee was kind of cute, too.   
  
Emi squinted her eyes shut. _No, I'm not going there._ She opened them to see that he'd stopped right before her on the sidewalk. _D'ohhhh…_   
  
But, "Hello, Reiji," she said formally, coolly, as if she were greeting a stranger.   
  
"Hi," Rage responded flatly.   
  
"How are you this morning?" _Brilliant, Emi! You're finally talking to him, and you manage to pick the absolute lamest dialogue ever!_   
  
"Fine." Rage shifted.   
  
Emi's mind suddenly lapsed. In the entire history of their acquaintance, this was the longest conversation they'd ever had. And she now had no idea what to say next.   
  
"Well?" Rage asked after a minute.   
  
"Well, what?"   
  
"Are you going to move out of the way? I've got to get to school sometime today."   
  
Cheeks flaming, Emi jumped out of the way, and Rage plodded past her without another word or glance. Way to ruin her good mood, Emi thought as she readjusted her beanie, then turned her nose up.   
  
"Goateed freak," she muttered.   
  
  
  
  
Emi was in an even gloomier mood on the way back home. Several of her classmates had been jabbering on last period about the great rave they'd attended last weekend, with its kickass DJ and abundance of candy necklaces, glow sticks and suspicious-looking little tablets. Emi's parents disapproved of raves wholeheartedly, and Emi, being the dutiful daughter, had never attempted to go against their wishes by sneaking out.   
  
But she loved to dance, more than anything else in the world. She'd known that ever since she'd been five years old and choreographing routines to the "Muppets' Greatest Hits" on her Fisher-Price record player, to the applauding audience of her parents. Of course, her taste in music had changed a bit over the years, as her collection of albums had ballooned well into the hundreds, but Emi still got that same rush every time she popped a trance CD into her stereo and the beat automatically manifested itself through the movement of her arms and legs.   
  
It was kind of pathetic, she thought, forever dancing by yourself where the only audience was your reflection in the mirror over your dresser. But outside of the raves, there just weren't any places for kids her age to go dancing. All of the clubs around were 21 or over, except for Asylum, and even there you had to be at least 18. Which left Emi, with almost a year to go before her next birthday, out of luck.   
  
Emi just wanted a place where, at least once a week, she could forget about things like industrial school and lame remedial computer classes; a place where she could lose herself in a crowd, drown herself in a sea of strobe lighting and machine-made fog, and simply be swept away by the music. A place to transcend it. Her place…   
  
She shook herself back into reality.   
  
_Yeah, fat chance of that happening._   
  
"Excuse me, miss? Would you like a flyer?"   
  
A smiling teenage girl extended a piece of bright magenta photocopy right under Emi's nose. "Grand opening is this weekend. No cover charge. We'd love to see you there!"   
  
Emi accepted the flyer, scarcely glancing at it before deciding to pitch it into the nearest trash receptacle. Another nightclub ad. Well, it was the first time she'd passed for 21, anyway. She was about to toss it into a nearby dumpster when one line of copy caught her eye: _All Ages Welcome._   
  
She quickly scanned over the rest of it, her pulse quickening with each line. _Club Revolution_, it was called. _Grand Opening Saturday Night. The Hottest Beats Spun by the One and Only DJ Naoki. 'One on One' Freestyle Dance Tournament - First Prize $500. No Cost to Enter._   
  
She wouldn't dare enter the tournament, of course, but that didn't matter. It was a sign. Whoever the Patron Saint of Dance Clubs was, they'd decided to smile on her today. This had to be it—her place.   
  
Flush with sudden excitement, her previous dismal mood all but forgotten, Emi hurriedly stuffed the flyer in her school briefcase and broke into a run, not noticing the figure heading in her direction on the sidewalk. With a _smack_, she collided with them, her briefcase flying out of her grip and tumbling into the gutter. "Oh—I—sorry," she gasped, pushing her crooked beanie out of her eyes. "I wasn't watching where I was go…" She looked up into the person's face and flushed. "…ing."   
  
"No kidding," Rage replied.   
  
  
  
***   
  
Next chapter: Emi and Yuni go toe-to-toe…  
  



	3. Showdown In Crystal Tokyo

This chapter's a little on the long side, as I'm not only bringing in Akira and Yuni, but Izam and Ni-Na as well. I make no apologies for Yuni's attitude. It provides conflict. ^_^ I'd also like to beg the Sneaker Pimps for forgiveness of Izam's butchering of "Spin Spin Sugar". And yes, I know that the chapter title sounds like a bad episode of Sailor Moon, which was my intention. ^^  
  
POLITICALLY CORRECT DISCLAIMER: Pink Marabou does not advocate smoking 'doobies'.  
  
  
  
Club Revolution: The Politics of Dancing   
03: Showdown in Crystal Tokyo   
  
  
  
"Wow! Look, it's her! It's really her!"   
  
A gaggle of excited little girls in matching private-school uniforms and kneesocks craned their necks around to get a better look at the teenager sashaying down the sidewalk, long blonde pigtails swirling behind her as she clung to her companion's arm. To the casual observer, she was indistinguishable from any other sailor-suited schoolgirl—prettier than most, perhaps. But the group of young onlookers knew better.   
  
One little girl, bolder than the rest, pulled out a pen and paper from her pink plastic backpack and caught up to the retreating figures, running alongside them. "Miss Verse!" she squealed in nine-year-old rapture. "Miss Verse, can I please have your autograph, please?"   
  
The blonde girl, international teen star Yuni Verse, beamed indulgently down at the eager moppet. "I'm terribly sorry," she said sweetly, "but I'm in a big hurry to get somewhere. But, if you send fifteen dollars to my fan club, you can get a personally signed 8x10 glossy. Toodles!"   
  
And with that, she and her companion continued on their merry way, obviously not in any big hurry.   
  
"So, anyway, Akira," Yuni chirped, snuggling against the man's shirtsleeve, "this new club is supposed to be at least as good as the ones downtown, if not better. Well, I mean, of _course_ it's better, if it's under-21. I still can't believe the nerve of those people at the Paradise Lounge—_carding_ a celebrity! I paid for a VIP pass, they should have let me in anyway!"   
  
Akira, her tall, imposing, and sharply dressed bodyguard, didn't bother to point out to Yuni that she was only 14, and that the club owners had had a perfectly valid reason for not letting her in. Yuni was under the impression that with her fame, she should be allowed to go anywhere and do anything she wanted, but despite the error of this way of thinking, Akira never corrected her. It wasn't in his job description. No, that only included protecting her, following her, and granting her every wish, whether it was satisfying a 2 AM hankering for French fries or beating up an obnoxious cat-calling admirer.   
  
Besides, he'd learned long ago that arguing anything with Yuni was a lost cause.   
  
So, he usually just conceded with, "Hmm."   
  
"Anyway, I figure that tournament's an easy win," Yuni continued, skipping over a crack in the walk, the pleats of her brown plaid skirt fluttering with the effort. "I know I've got an advantage over most of the wannabe fly-girls around here. And with you helping me to eliminate the competition, first prize is as good as mine!"   
  
Again, Akira was struck with the urge to remind her that she was already exceedingly wealthy, so much that $500 was a mere drop in the bucket. And that she'd just taken it for granted that he'd enter the contest, too.   
  
But, "Hmm," was all he said.   
  
Yuni sighed. "I'm bored. Let's go by the video store and look at my posters again."   
  
Akira quirked an eyebrow at her, then adjusted the holster concealed under his arm. "As you wish, Miss Yuni."   
  
  
  
"Oh, you're kidding!" Ruby, the afternoon clerk at Crystal Tokyo Video, stopped in her pinning up a poster advertising _Cowboy Bebop: Knockin' on Heaven's Door_ to turn around and gape at Emi in shock. Emi had been distracting her from her duties with the tale of her double collision with Rage, and Ruby had accidentally driven a pushpin through Spike Spiegel's forehead. "Well, at least he actually _spoke_ to you. That's something, right?"   
  
Emi laughed, pushing a light blue lock behind one ear. "Oh, yeah, Ruby. That's exactly the sort of hot n' heavy romance I always dreamed would happen to me. Anyway, I don't even like Rage…like that."   
  
"Mmmhmm," Ruby taunted lightly as she finished tacking the poster. "Suuuure you don't."   
  
"I don't!" Emi insisted. "He's so…gosh, I don't know. Inaccessible, for one."   
  
Ruby set down the box of pushpins and stared deadpan at her friend. "Grasshopper, you have much to learn about the opposite sex. They're _all_ inaccessible when it comes to their feelings. If they weren't, they'd be women."   
  
Emi allowed herself a giggle, but sobered up quickly. "Plus, he's such a mope. And a terrible conversationalist. And I'm absolutely positive we have nothing in common. I don't even think he _has_ a life outside of the store and school."   
  
"Oh, I wouldn't—" Ruby began, but was cut off by the jangling of the bell atop the door. In waltzed Nana "Ni-Na" Nida, the daughter of the flower shop owners across the plaza, and a casual friend of Emi's. Emi would have liked to get to know her better, but as they didn't attend the same high school, they hung out with different people and usually only saw each other at the market. Still, Emi liked her and thought she was unique. She was a sort of quasi-hippie at heart who was never seen without an armload of bangles, a bindi on her forehead, and a golden-yellow bandanna tied around her sapphire hair.   
  
She wasn't alone today, either; she was towing along a boy Emi had never seen before. He looked about their age, in a baggy rainbow tie-dyed shirt and even baggier khakis, with a head full of brown dreadlocks. He grinned amiably at Emi and Ruby and made the 'shaka' gesture with his left hand. "What's up?"   
  
Ruby grinned back. "Who's your friend, Ni-Na?"   
  
"Ruby, Emi, this is Izam; he's a classmate of mine. Izam, this is Ruby Tsukino and Emi Toshiba," Ni-Na gestured to the two girls as hellos were exchanged.   
  
"Emi…Toshiba?" Izam said, his brow creasing. "Oh, I get it! Like the music company, Toshiba-EMI."   
  
A loud crash sounded just then, causing the teens' heads to jerk in the direction of the sound. "What was that?" asked Ni-Na, looking startled.   
  
"Fourth wall?" Emi supplied, as the group looked around suspiciously.   
  
"No, I knocked over this stack of videos," Ruby said sheepishly, picking up several VHS cases off the floor. "So…Izam. That's an odd name. What's it short for?"   
  
Ni-Na smiled. "He won't even tell _me_. All the teachers just call him 'Izam'. It's even on his ID."   
  
"Hey, if I told you, it'd ruin the mystique!" protested Izam. "And part of my appeal as a character is the fact that I choose to remain an enigma."   
  
Another crash sounded, of something heavy toppling over. Emi, Izam and Ni-Na looked at Ruby, still re-stacking videos, who merely shrugged.   
  
"We've got to be more careful of that fourth wall," sighed Ni-Na. "Anyway, we just stopped by to see if you had any of those dance simulator games in stock. We're going back to my house to warm up for the tournament Saturday, and we're not above stealing a few ideas…"   
  
"You mean the tournament at Club Revolution?" Emi raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you were that into dancing, Ni-Na."   
  
"Oh, yeah!" Ni-Na beamed. "Mostly at raves, even though I don't go that often. Izam's 18, so he can get into Asylum. He's even won a couple of freestyling contests there."   
  
Izam grinned proudly. "I would have won Freestyle Champion of the Year, if not for that—stupid—_aargh!_" he choked out in a strangled voice. Ni-Na patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Sorry, it just steams me thinking about that jerk."   
  
"What jerk?" Emi inquired.   
  
Ni-Na giggled. "Why, none other than Kaboku Shopping Center's very own Rage Itoh!"   
  
Now it was Emi's turn to choke. "_Rage?_"   
  
"Aaghh, don't say the name!" Izam yelped. "Just hearing it fills me with…" He clenched his fists and turned bright red. "_Rage!_"   
  
"Apparently," Ni-Na went on gleefully, "he showed up, kicked everyone's butt several times over, including Izam's, who was favored to win, and went home with the trophy. And did it all without saying a word to anyone!"   
  
"Now twist the knife counterclockwise, Neen!" Izam moaned. "I tell you, the next time I see that guy…I'm going to show him a thing or two about busting a move. If I don't punch him in the face first!"   
  
"Better not look toward the door, then," Ruby said casually, whistling a tune as she filed a video away on the shelf behind her.   
  
Sure enough, the bell jangled again to signal Rage's entrance, who strode up to the counter with a videotape in hand, completely oblivious to the four pairs of silent eyes watching him. Izam, trembling with fury, had to be restrained by Ni-Na. Rage handed over the tape to Ruby, then cocked his head to look at Emi. Emi stared unblinkingly back, even though she knew her cheeks were flaming red.   
  
Rage finally broke eye contact with Emi, then did an about-face and looked at Izam's throttled expression as he practically gnashed his teeth, struggling in Ni-Na's grip. A low, barely audible chuckle issued from Rage's throat before he turned and stalked out of the store.   
  
"You just wait! I'll get you, you—" Izam yelled at Rage's disappearing back as Ni-Na continued her attempts to placate him. "Save it for the tournament, Iz," she said calmly. "I'm sure he'll be there. You can exact your revenge on the dance floor."   
  
"Oh, I will." Izam crossed his arms. "I don't care if he's the Freestyling Champion of the Universe—"   
  
_Jangle, jangle_. "Somebody call me?" trilled a voice, and Emi suppressed a groan. With a swirl of blond hair, Yuni Verse pranced into view, a tall and rather studly Asian man on her heels. Yuni played the dance-crazy title character on the popular teen adventure series _Sugar Rush_, and her likeness was always on display on several posters and DVD cases around the store. Emi, who'd watched the series religiously when it had first come out, had been completely star-struck the first time she'd seen the pixie-like actress walk into Crystal Tokyo, where she'd informed the Tsukino on duty that one of her posters was hanging crooked in the window.   
  
Then, she'd worked up the nerve to actually _speak_ to the TV star, and…Emi wasn't quite so star-struck anymore. She'd had several more chance encounters with Yuni after that, and each time her estimation of the girl had managed to plummet even further. Now, rather than gasping or shrieking like a fangirl when she came into view, Emi's first instinct was to groan.   
  
But, she swallowed it and forced a smile anyway. "Hello, Yuni."   
  
Ni-Na only nodded at her; Emi suspected she might have had some unpleasant encounter with the girl herself. Ruby kept putting tapes on the shelves, paying no attention to the celebrity that had just walked in. But Izam looked intrigued. "Hey, aren't you Sugar Rush?" he exclaimed.   
  
Yuni sniffed and tossed her hair. "Naturally. Didn't the posters give you a hint?"   
  
"Man, this is so cool! I love that show, especially after a doobie or two," Izam related. "That opening song is so trippy…_Spin spin sugaaahh! Call on meeeee, spin spin sugaaaahh!_"   
  
Ni-Na shook her head, and Emi tried not to laugh. Even Yuni's companion looked like he was holding back, one corner of his mouth quirking. Yuni, however, looked highly affronted.   
  
"Very nice," she said coolly. "Have you finished embarrassing yourself?"   
  
"Hmm." Izam thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, I guess."   
  
"Just out of curiosity, Yuni, did you have some reason for coming here other than to insult the customers?" Emi remarked boldly, privately enjoying the bright spots of color that appeared on the girl's cheeks. Obviously Yuni wasn't used to people not being affected by her blinding stardom.   
  
"I was just on a walk through the neighborhood," Yuni huffed. "And apparently the video store is one of the most happening places in this pathetic little city…"   
  
"If you hate it so much, why don't you move back to New York?" challenged Emi.   
  
"_Because_," Yuni thrust out, putting a hand on one hip, "my parents thought it would be best for me to take a break from the entertainment industry for awhile. And they think it's safer here. Believe me, if I had a choice I'd be back on Fifth Avenue in a second."   
  
Ni-Na, who'd been eyeing the man behind Yuni all this time, finally spoke up. "Who's the guy, Yuni?"   
  
"Oh!" Yuni latched onto the man's arm again, and he stared poker-faced ahead. "This is Akira Kongohji. My…boyfriend."   
  
"Really. 'Cause from that gun under his arm, I'd be willing to bet he's a bodyguard," Emi remarked. "Not to mention the fact that he looks a bit too old for you."   
  
"Shows how much you know," Yuni shot back, still glomping Akira's arm. "Akira and I have been together a long time, haven't we, pookie?"   
  
"Hmm," was all Akira said.   
  
Izam was squinting at Akira. "Dude, are you that guy on _Big O_? 'Cause you look just like him. I mean, the resemblance is seriously uncanny, man."   
  
"Akira and I are entering the dance tournament at that new club this weekend," Yuni announced, by way of returning all attention to herself. "So I hope none of you plan on doing the same, unless you want to be humiliated."   
  
"We're entering it," Ni-Na spoke up, indicating herself and Izam. "And what makes you so certain you're going to win, anyway?"   
  
"Because I'm the best." Yuni beamed. She turned to Emi. "I guess I don't have to bother to ask if you're entering. You don't really look like the dancing type."   
  
That did it. Emi swelled. This was another one of those rare but deadly instances that she was going to say something she'd later regret, but she was, of course, too agitated to consider the situation. "Oh, yeah?" she demanded. "Well, as a matter of fact, I _am_ the dancing type. And I _am_ going to enter that tournament. So I guess we'll just have to wait and see who's the best."   
  
"Fine! It'll be my pleasure." Yuni put her nose in the air and turned about. "Let's go, Akira."   
  
Akira held the door open for her as she stormed out, then turned and nodded good-day to the video store's occupants before following close behind.   
  
"Wow, Emi!" Ni-Na exclaimed, sounding as if she'd just been holding a long breath. "So you're really going to enter, too?"   
  
Emi sagged, feeling completely drained. "I hadn't even been planning to. Yuni just got me so riled up…I blurted it out. I guess now I don't really have a choice."   
  
"You'll be great," Ni-Na assured her. "Hey, if you need any help picking out a new outfit for the club…just give me a buzz, okay?"   
  
Emi nodded numbly as Ruby led Ni-Na and Izam over to the selection of video games. Much as she would have liked to blame Yuni for this, she knew who the real culprit was. Her big mouth. It didn't even get a workout that much, but when it did, it seemed her foot always found its way in there, too.   
  
Ruby returned to the counter and tapped Emi lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, buck up. Don't worry about it. You're going to kick some major arse on that floor."   
  
"More like, I'm going to get my arse majorly kicked. I bet even Yuni's been to more clubs than I have, and she's still in junior high!" Emi frowned, leaning on the counter and propping her chin in her hands. "I mean, I've barely danced outside my own room! I know I won't have half the experience of most of those people—"   
  
"Maybe not," Ruby interrupted. "But you love it more than most of those people. And that's more important. Most of them are either competing for the prize or the chance to show off their skills. How many people do you think will be competing just because they love to dance?" Emi tried to protest, but Ruby cut her off again. "Yeah, yeah, I know you were more or less challenged, and you're doing it because of pride. But when you go out there, it's not going to be about pride, or winning. It's going to be about you and the music. Even if you don't win, you won't have lost anything."   
  
Emi was silent for a few moments as she took this in. Then, as her eyes met Ruby's, she broke into a tentative smile. "That was a great pep speech, Rube. Think you can get it printed up for me?"   
  
Ruby laughed and bopped her playfully on the head with an empty video case, which brought something else to Emi's mind. "Hey, Ruby?" she ventured. "That tape that Rage returned…what was it?"   
  
With a devilish smile, Ruby reached under the counter and slid it under Emi's nose. "_Dirty Dancing_," she said with a snigger. "Wonders never cease, do they, Em?"   
  
  
  
***   
  
Next chapter: It's all about style.   
  
And if you didn't get the whole 'fourth wall' business...just ask me about it. ^^   
  



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